


TWINK HOUSEWIFE FUCK YEAH

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Exhibitionism, M/M, Obedience, Showing Off, Twink, i know nobody likes reading in dialect but i wrote in dialect, married, no actual sex sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Tell Daddy’s friends what it is you do better than anybody else.”He looks at me quick to make sure what I want him to say, and then just a little shy, murmurs, “Suck cock.”(Dirty Appalachian bear with a heart of gold proves to his kinda homophobic friends that he's doing perfectly fine with a husband instead of a wife.)
Relationships: OC/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous





	TWINK HOUSEWIFE FUCK YEAH

Folks call me a “ladies’ man.” They wouldn’t bother sayin’ it but for that I’m a big ugly fucker, but their women still prefer my company to theirs. It ain’t any kind of charisma or nothing. ‘Round here, women are impressed by any man that treat them like any more than a prize, a bride, and then the butt of a whole stand-up routine. It don’t take any kinda extra effort. Just listening when they talk, telling ‘em when they look extra pretty and all. The reputation ‘round the job that I’m pullin’ ass in hand over fist, I never bothered much with it. I tell ‘em naw, but people gonna think what they want. I’m not one for minding what people say, or for answering questions nobody asked. As it were, when it came up to the boys at work that I’d been married some few months back, it caused a lot more talk than I prefer. Talk got pretty quiet when they asked the right questions to get me tellin’ them it wasn’t no wife I had. If I weren’t bigger and meaner than any one of ‘em, and worth any three on the job site, I figure they’d do their best to make me regret them finding out. A few slurs and some bruised shoulders fixed the mood right up. You take ten men, get ‘em on their own, you find nine don’t really wanna start no trouble over where another man warms his dick in his own home. I got more shit for marrying a city kid from down in the flatlands than for fudge packing.

When Tate’s kid sister’s cat had the kitten with the extra half a face, the boys came out three days later to get a look. It took two for them to invite themselves over to meet the husband.

Freddy sticks to the house ‘less he needs groceries or finds some errands. He ain’t too sociable, mostly, but anyone’ll get bored like that. He was practically hopping when I told him we’d be havin’ guests. It took some convincing to keep him from cooking up some kinda banquet.

The guys stared at Freddy like he was the leprechaun off the cereal box as he took their coats and tittered on about how happy he was to have ‘em, how welcome they should make themselves, all that. I know damn well not one of ‘em had ever seen how pretty a man can get. I knew all their wives back when they were just kids like Freddy, barely twenty, and not a damn one was such a sight as him, tits be damned. No one made a peep while I led them back to the garage, where Freddy’d set up what he called a den after I took him in. You wouldn’t think much coulda been made of the ugly little box I’d bought right outta school, but Freddy keeps things real nice. He knows how to squeeze a nickel ‘til it pops. A few extra pillows, some curtains, a couple plants, he had the place neat and cozy as anything.

I got a game playing on the old fatback TV in the den, no teams anyone gave much of a shit for. The boys sat, but you couldn’t say they got comfortable. They looked downright threatened when Freddy leaned in and asked, “Can I get anyone anything to drink?”

“Just some beers, babe. And you wanna grab those, the whaddyacallums—”

“The gouda turovers? Sure! Anything else?” He was glowing.

“Not for now. Thanks, kid.”

He honest-to-God skipped back toward the kitchen.

“The what turnovers?” Al drawled, always the first to prove himself a fool.

“Gouda. Cheese.” I didn’t feel like I had to sell anyone on my husband’s cooking. They’d figure out soon enough.

“Dang,” Tate said, “if ya wanted a woman, why didntcha just marry a girl from town? S’the point of bein’ a fag if you just marry a chick anyway?” Tate’s wife was the prettiest girl back in school. She’ll tell anyone who’ll listen how bad she hates his guts.

“Guess he wanted a wife with more teeth than fingers,” Berg laughed. He’s alright, just the kinda guy who squirms for everyone to like him. That can get you sick sometimes.

“What is he, a lizard? D’ja buy him offa someone? You sure he’s clean?” Al don’t know it, but when his oldest girl was gettin’ bothered by some greasy little patrol officer after he found her carrying, I’m the one she asked to teach him how to treat women in our town. He can get quick with his mouth. It ain’t hard to laugh it off, though. Men like us talk shit better than we talk English.

Freddy comes back with a few beers in a bindle made from a dishcloth and a plateful of those little pastries. He’s all smiles as he makes his rounds, passing a cold can to each of our guests, stopping to pop the tab on mine before he puts it in my hand, meeting my eyes the way he does that gets me thinking about souls and all that shit. Berg thinks I can’t see his eyes on Freddy’s ass. I can’t hold it against him.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if anyone needs anything. Have fun, guys!” He lilted, waving to me on his way out. He’s in a sweatshirt and jeans that roll up over his ankles. No matter how little skin he shows, it always gets me going. Just that inch above his socks gets me to thinking about what the two of us are gonna get up to after the house clears out.

Soon as he’s gone, the guys start up again. “Why cantcha just get a girl? Ladies’ man like you. If you like ‘em skinny, there’s Coach’s girls.”

“Hell, if ya don’t like pussy, plenty a girls’ll let you go ‘round the back.” Al keeps grabbing for more turnovers. They’re little, but he’s shovin’ em down like someone’s about to steal ‘em.

“Nah,” I take a big slug of my beer, “I’m good with the kid.”

“What, ‘cause he does all that wifey stuff? Cooking and cleaning? Even if he’s got that shit covered, you _know_ a girl’s gonna be worth more in the bedroom. I mean, they’re _made_ for it, after all.”

It’s not the kind of thing much anyone would say out loud, but when Freddy opens my beers for me, when he dips his thumb down in it, it always makes it taste just a little better. He’s a good kid. People have a hard time seeing that in him. He’s told me the whole story, back with his family, the year he spent between eighteen and nineteen. How he’s managed to stay so sweet that whole time, I couldn’t tell you.

I chuckle off what the boys are saying, and then set my beer down on the table, next to the empty plate. I never have to call more than once to get Freddy to come running; he hops back into the den still wiping his wet hands on a towel, smiling like a peach, happy to be needed.

“Yes, Da—” His bottom lips loosens a little when he cuts himself off.

“That’s alright, baby, you can call me Daddy. Why don’t you come on over here and sit with us?” I pat on my lap. He looks a li’l nervous, but he wiggles his way past to boys, angling his fat ass through the narrow space. He just perches on top of my knee. He’s smaller than you’d think for his height; his whole weight don’t feel like much more than a blanket. I let the guys stare as I grab at him around his tight little waist and pull him down so he’s sitting on my lap proper. I’ve always liked my size just for givin’ me something to throw around, but Freddy’s so awfully fond of it that it’s almost a little contagious. I’ve gotten an appreciation for the way my being so big lets me wrap all the way around him, lets me feel all of him at once.

Nobody’s mouth’s moving too quick now. “The boys were just tellin’ me what a great li’l host you make.”

He starts squirming a little as I massage his thigh with my thumb. He likes my big callouses. “Yeah? That’s nice...”

“They were askin’ me what other kinda talents you have. In’t that right?”

Nobody wants to meet my eye, but nobody’ll look away, neither.

“Tell Daddy’s friends what it is you do better than anybody else.”

He looks at me quick to make sure what I want him to say, and then just a little shy, murmurs, “Suck cock.”

“Yeah?” I don’t care much what they say about me, but they’re not about to talk shit on Freddy and walk away happy about it. I keep at petting Freddy’s thigh, letting him know he’s doing his daddy good.

“Yeah. I love it. Especially my Daddy’s. It’s so good. It’s so _yummy_. I wish I could just keep it in my mouth all day. I’m so lucky...,” he moans when my hand cups his groin, palming his growing erection.

The boys don’t look so awkward anymore. They’re staring like we’re a TV show. “Keep going,” I urge.

“I looove Daddy’s big heavy balls...they get so fat and swollen with cum...he’s so nice, making all that tasty cum for me...he keeps me so full and warm...I love it when my belly’s all sloshing full of Daddy’s babies...” He’s leaning back into me now, spreading his thighs so I can fit my fingers on either side of his little dick and rub at it the way you do a clit.

“Show Daddy’s friends where you keep those babies.”

He’s quick to ruck his shirt up to his throat, showing off that smooth stretch of belly, perky little tits pointing out, the prettiest pink nipples anyone could ask for. He flats his palm over that belly and rubs a few big circles into it. “In here.”

I grab hold of the waistband of his jeans from the back and hoist them forward, pulling his knees up toward the ceiling as I go. He pops a thumb into his mouth the way I like, waiting along with the boys to see what I’m up to. I’ve got him laying low on my lap, ankles up. It’s easy to hold his thighs up with just one arm, so I go ahead and use the other to pull one of his big meaty cheeks to one side, showing off his hole. I can’t see it from my angle, but I know he’s got the sweetest little button, still puffy and red from our morning fuck. “You keep that pretty pink pussy all clean and tight and ready for Daddy?”

He’s too worked up to do more than nod. It don’t take much more’n a quick grope to get him drooling; I know the poor kid’s suffering. I feel just a little guilty, but not near enough to stop.

“What if I told you to go take a ride on Daddy’s friends’ cocks? Would ya do that for me?”

The boys look like they’ve forgotten they even have faces. They’re all bunched up at the edge of the couch, too busy to even blink. I know Freddy ain’t even bothering to look them over as he nods. The kid’s smarter than me any day of the week, but get that little hole of his winking and you could barely tell him from any meth baby on the mountain. He goes cross-eyed, can’t get his mouth closed, the works.

I think any one of the boys’ wives would be happier to feed them a bullet than lay back and take another stop-and-start whiskey dick pounding from a man that don’t even bother announcing his intentions no more. They’re good women, and my boys are good men, though they’re somehow too dim to remember how to show their spouse a little love and kindness every now and again. It don’t even take much: some kisses, proper thank-yous, compliments and gifts now and again. Any asshole can get a cumslut begging for a nice fat dick. Turning that slut into a happy little housewife, now, that takes love.

I pull Freddy’s pants back into place and give him a big kiss to the back of the head. He’s still panting and wobbling, but when I push him up onto his feet, he manages to stay upright. “I’m just bein’ curious. Baby boy, why don’t you sit down and relax with us?”

He’s still all stupid, but at least his eyes are startin’ to work together again. He gives a dim nod and plops his butt down beside me on the couch. He’s not a drinker, but when I hand over my beer, I think he’s just glad for some kinda cold drink.

“What was it we were talkin’ about?” I ask my boys, playing like I really forgot.

Al pipes up, as usual. “Uh, nothin’. It’s Freddy, right? Th...thank you for the little...cheese things.”

“You think those’re good, you gotta try his tapenade.” Freddy starts to push himself onto his feet again, but I give his thigh a quick pat, and go ahead and stand up myself. “You stay comfy, baby. I’ll get it.”


End file.
